


A Man and His Wives

by DesertVixen



Category: Historical RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 03:57:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14824832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertVixen/pseuds/DesertVixen
Summary: Modern AU of Henry VIII and his six wives.Please note the story does contain references to off-stage canonical character death and pregnancy loss.





	A Man and His Wives

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Biscuit Lion (cookiethelion)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiethelion/gifts).



**HENRY**

All he wanted was a son, Henry Tudor mused as he looked around the crowded courtroom. A son who would carry on his family name. A son who would grow up to run the family business that Henry’s father had fought to build. Why did that make him the bad guy?

He didn’t deny that he had loved Catherine, loved her enough to marry her after his brother Arthur’s untimely death. Arthur and Catherine Aragon had been engaged as a matter of business, of merging the Tudor and Aragon family businesses, but Henry knew that the two of them had developed tender feelings for each other. After the never-strong Arthur had died of pneumonia, their father had floated the idea of Henry saving the merger and marrying Catherine himself. Initially Henry had resisted, until both of his parents had also passed unexpectedly. She had been five years older than him, but she was still a picture of loveliness, with her reddish-gold hair and graceful ways. It had not taken them long to fall in love with each other, to transform their friendship into a blaze of passion.

But their passion had not resulted in the one thing he wanted – a healthy baby boy. They had suffered through a miscarriage before little Henry’s birth. He had been a fine boy that they had nicknamed Hal, and he’d been the light of his parents’ world. It had been the happiest period of their life together – Henry and Catherine and their little prince Hal. It had lasted almost two months, until the morning they discovered that he was dead. Catherine’s screams had woken him, brought him into the worst day of his life. It seemed only hours before he had been lying in bed with his wife and son before Catherine put him in the bassinet. They had called for assistance, but they had both known that Hal was past helping. 

Sometimes he looked back and thought that was the beginning of the end for them. He had felt upset and betrayed, and he had tried to be there for his wife, but it had been soul-crushing.

After Hal’s death, they had consulted with doctors, undergone tests, and changed nothing. Catherine had miscarried two more times before they agreed to try in-vitro fertilization. Henry had thought that surely this would be what changed their luck.

Instead their daughter Mary had been the result of the procedure. Henry had held her in his arms and fallen instantly in love with the baby girl with a lusty cry, but her presence didn’t diminish his need for a son, not with the hole in his heart that Hal had left behind. Then, he had thought that surely a healthy baby boy would follow on his big sister’s heels, but it was not to be. Catherine had yet another miscarriage, followed by the final pregnancy that resulted in a little waif of a girl who was born too early and lived only a few hours. Catherine had been inconsolable. The doctor had pulled Henry aside to recommend that Catherine not become pregnant again. His wife had been so upset that Henry had not argued.

He still loved Catherine, but he had sought proof that his secret fear was not true, that the issue was not with him. That, and as Catherine had withdrawn from the physical aspects of their marriage to pour her energy in to Mary’s upbringing and education, Henry had found himself unsatisfied. Perhaps it had been the strain of feeling guilty that she could not give him a healthy son, but whatever the reason, Catherine had left him lonely and searching. He was a passionate man, a virile man who knew women found him very attractive. And he was no saint.

Elizabeth Blount, his longtime secretary, had stayed with him late one night in the office, and one thing had led to another. There had always been a bit of flirting between them, and Bessie knew exactly how to keep him in a good mood. Henry had always admired her blonde good looks, as well as her penchant for short skirts and low tops. She had offered him a neck massage that evening, and ended up in his lap giggling. He had kissed her, and she had kissed him, and they had found themselves in a tangle on his office couch. There had been a sense of fun about it that had long been missing from lovemaking with Catherine, where both of them were thinking so hard about creating a child. It had been something of a relief to simply lose himself in the physical, to delight in the feeling of Bessie’s body. She had responded in a way that it seemed Catherine never did anymore, had sat astride him on the couch and laughed. She had made him laugh, something that he’d badly needed.

They had carried on a short affair, until she came to him and confessed that she was pregnant. Henry has been excited, in spite of the fact that he knew what he had done would hurt Catherine. He suspected Catherine knew he was the reason Bessie took a long leave of absence, that she knew Henry was paying for Bessie’s expensive day care, knew that the bouncing baby boy she had so admired was Henry’s son. Little Hank was a joy and relief to Henry, but it wasn’t the same as having a son who would bear his name.

Henry had come to the sad realization that the only way to have the son who would carry on the pride of the Tudor name was to divorce Catherine and marry again. It pained him, but he was more than willing to be generous to Catherine if she would just give him what he wanted.

Catherine had not seen it that way. Henry had forgotten how much he had admired her stubbornness when it benefited him, now that it was turned against him. She did not – could not – understand how he felt, how much he needed a son. She saw it as a rejection of her, of the love they had shared, and most importantly, of their daughter Mary. Henry had no objection to supporting Catherine and Mary, but he had been shocked by how passionate Catherine was about the subject of divorce. His initial generous offer had been met by outraged refusal. His initial optimism and generosity had since eroded, with Catherine doing all she could to be an obstruction.

Even now, she was refusing to look at him, instead staring straight ahead at the judge’s bench. He was still perfectly willing to stop this whole ordeal, give her a fair settlement – custody of Mary, support, even allow her to keep one of their properties – if only she would give in. But he had made the mistake once of commenting that perhaps their difficulties stemmed from the fact that he had married his dead brother’s fiancée. There had been rumors that Arthur and Catherine had anticipated their vow, but Henry had not cared. On their wedding night, he had discovered that those rumors had no basis in fact. But as he had stood by her hospital bed again and again, mourning the loss of their shared dream of a large healthy family, Henry had begun wondering if perhaps they had made an unwise decision. Catherine saw his doubts and questions as an attempt to lay blame at her door, and she didn’t react well. He had tried to be patient with her, tried to understand that she held herself responsible for those losses, but he had simply run out of patience. To Catherine, it was all about the fact that they loved each other, and loved their daughter Mary. She did not understand that it wasn’t enough.

She didn’t understand that he needed a son.

So they had come to his place. Their divorce proceedings would be over this afternoon, and he planned to celebrate this evening with Anne, sweet Anne.

Anne Boleyn, with her striking elegance and sophisticated manner, had been an intoxicating breath of fresh air in his life. Catherine had always made him feel comfortable, like when she monogrammed his shirts with fine embroidery. But comfort was not enough to make up for the lack of a male heir.

Anne, on the other hand, was exciting and romantic. More importantly, she made him feel exciting and romantic, made him feel like the most virile man alive. Anne would be able to give him a son, he was sure. All that was necessary now was for Judge Cranmer to rule in his favor, and Henry had no doubt that he would. Norfolk understood the direction the wind blew. Henry had made sure of that.

Henry glanced over again, saw Catherine was actually looking in his direction. For a moment, they locked eyes, and he felt the pull of everything they had shared, how they had loved each other once, and it was on the tip of his tongue to say a soft word that might help ease the situation. Then her gaze shifted to Anne Boleyn, and Catherine’s gaze hardened. Henry’s heart hardened as well. It did not matter. Catherine could not change things now.

**CATHERINE OF ARAGON**

Henry could not be so stupid as to believe that she didn’t know about his affairs, mused Catherine Aragon Tudor as she sat in the courtroom. She focused on the judge’s bench to keep from succumbing to her emotions. He had that hussy Anne Boleyn sitting brazenly in the courtroom, and Bessie Blount as well. How many other women sitting in that side of the court had he slept with?

How had they ended up here from their beginning, Catherine wondered. They had been happy in the beginning, when their love had blossomed after poor Arthur’s death. Catherine had always been fond of the younger brother, but in the wake of Arthur’s death he had become more than a friend. Henry had been her rock when she had badly needed support. The death of Henry’s parents had settled matters and Catherine had married him in the face of the rumors about her and Arthur. She kept the picture of their wedding day on her desk, so that she could always remember how beautiful it had been. Henry, tall and young and handsome, while her long red-gold hair swirled around her hips as they held hands and waved to the crowd of well-wishers.

Catherine knew she had not aged as well as she would have hoped – weight had settled on her middle and hips, the years had carved care lines into her face, and she had been forced to cut her hair after it thinned. But she still had her love for Henry, even if the cares of their years together had worn heavily on her, while they had barely touched him. He had aged, of course, but in a way that earned him descriptors such as “distinguished” – the touch of gray at the temples, a few laugh lines that crinkled around his eyes when he smiled. Catherine was sadly aware that she had lost any claim she had ever had to beauty.

The miscarriages had been bad but the death of their infant son had taken the heaviest toll. Little Hal had been such a beautiful baby boy, but he had only lived for not even two months. They had been the two happiest months of her life. She’d had Henry and Hal, and had considered herself the most blessed woman alive. Then it had all come to a horrible end. She had spent countless hours on her knees in front of the empty bassinet, asking God why, even bargaining with Him. 

Finally, she had her daughter Mary, but Mary had not been enough for Henry. She had hoped that Mary’s birth signaled the end of their fertility issues, that Mary would become the oldest sister in a boisterous family. So Catherine had tried again, only to suffer another miscarriage and then Bella. She had carried Bella under her heart for almost nine months, and then had been granted only a few hours to be her mother before she passed away. Bella was her last child, a little girl who left behind only memories. When it had become clear that Mary would be an only child, Catherine had been willing to accept the fact, had poured her time and energy into her girl. Perhaps she had given too much to Mary, not enough to Henry, but Catherine had not realized how desperate he was for a son. Mary had not been enough. 

Catherine had not been enough.

So he had gone to other women. Catherine knew that Bessie Blount had not been the first time that Henry had strayed, but she had been the most painful. Not just because Bessie could apparently give him what Catherine could not, but because Catherine knew Bessie. She had held a baby shower for her, buying an elaborate and darling shower gift for the boy Bessie had known she was having, even embroidering an outfit with her own two hands. Catherine had held the healthy blond baby boy and known that she was holding Henry’s son. At the same time, she had known that Henry would never leave her for his secretary, so Bessie was safe. Catherine had even entertained a fantasy of adopting little Hank, raising him with Henry, but she knew it would not work. For one, Catherine knew she could never ask a mother to part with her child. 

Anne Boleyn was not safe. Catherine knew that she was the motivating factor behind the divorce, knew they had been carrying on for some time. If not for Anne, Henry would have been fine with simply continuing to have affairs, and Catherine would have dealt with it somehow. She felt betrayed. She had given Henry everything – her youth, her beauty, her health - and it had not been enough because she had borne him no son. So when he had asked her to simply give up, to stand aside, promising her anything she wanted if she would only give him his freedom – money, property, the best of everything – Catherine had refused. He hadn’t understood that all she wanted was him and Mary, to be happy together.

Now was the moment of judgement, Catherine thought as Judge Cranmer entered the courtroom. Now they would find out how it ended.

**ANNE BOLEYN**

She had planned an exquisite evening. Anne had been certain that Henry would win in court – and he had, she told herself gleefully – and knew that it called for celebration. She had arranged for a meal that featured several of his favorite delicacies, avoiding anything that might weigh him down, ensured the music playlist set the mood, and dressed in an elegant brown dress that emphasized her best features – to say nothing of the black lingerie she wore underneath, selected for just this occasion. She had allowed Henry a certain amount of liberties – enough to keep him interested, but not enough to sate his desire for her – over the course of their relationship. Henry Tudor was a man who always wanted something he wasn’t supposed to have, and Anne had made sure he wanted her. Tonight, however, she intended to cement their relationship by giving herself to him.

Henry was a free man. There was nothing Catherine could do to stand in her way, nothing that the old biddy could do to stop Anne from achieving her twin goals of wearing Henry’s ring on her finger and holding his healthy son in her arms. Anne could afford to tolerate Bessie and her son – after all, if Henry hadn’t left Catherine for Bessie before, he was unlikely to do so now – and indeed, Bessie had been a useful outlet for some of Henry’s passion. If nothing else, little Hank had made it much easier for Henry to believe that Catherine must be the problem, made it easier for him to cast her off.

Henry burst into her apartment, arms full of an extravagant bouquet and a bottle of champagne. Setting them down on the table, he whirled her around before giving her a long kiss.

“This is a wonderful day,” he said, still holding her against him. “It’s a chance for a new beginning.”

“Together,” Anne agreed, and led him over to the intimate dinner that she had carefully laid out on the low coffee table near the fireplace. A fire crackled cheerfully, and they reclined on large pillows, feeding each other dainty morsels. Anne congratulated herself on having created the perfect scene for seduction or surrender. Unlike their other interludes, when Henry’s hands began to roam her body, Anne allowed it. The time for playing hard to get had passed, she knew. So she let him draw her closer, let him explore what she had to offer. She found the force of his personality as intoxicating as the champagne, and gave herself up to the feeling. Henry was hers, now.

Much later, when the fire was dying down and their pulses had slowed, Henry rose and went to where he had tossed his suit jacket. Anne admired his magnificent figure as he padded towards her, gloriously naked. 

Then he was kneeling beside her, holding a black velvet box. 

“Anne, my love,” he said as he took her hand in his, “will you marry me?”

“Of course,” Anne said, tightening her hand around his. “There’s nothing I would like better.”

“Well,” Henry said with a grin, “I can think of one thing I would like better.” He slid the ring, a heavy beautiful diamond ring, on her hand, then raised it to his lips. Then he was leaning over to kiss her, and she pulled him down to celebrate their engagement.

**CATHERINE OF ARAGON**

He had not even waited a week before making Anne Boleyn his second wife, flying off to an exclusive island paradise to marry her in a splashy ceremony. It wasn’t much longer before Catherine heard that Anne was pregnant. She was not ashamed to admit that she felt intense jealousy towards the woman who had stolen Henry away from her, who had usurped her place. It provided her with some petty pleasure every time she signed herself Catherine Tudor – perhaps the substance had been lost, but she had vowed not to surrender her title as Catherine Tudor. She had been Henry’s first wife, was the mother of his only legitimate living child. In addition to all of that, she had been Catherine Tudor for so long that he couldn’t really expect her to go back to being Catherine Aragon, a woman who had not existed for over twenty years.

She was thankful that she was not quite small enough to take pleasure in the fact that Anne Boleyn had no more success at giving Henry the son he wanted so desperately. However much she disliked Anne, Catherine knew how painful it was to be confronted by an empty bassinet. Her major concern was how Henry’s new wife would impact Mary. The birth of her half-sister, Elizabeth, had made the situation unstable. Sometimes it worked to Mary’s advantage, especially when she could use her musical talent to please her father, but sometimes he went out of his way to favor Elizabeth in a way that was targeted at his daughter. Catherine preferred to believe that Anne was behind those events, but she worried about how Mary would be treated if Catherine were not in the picture. The last three years had been somewhat rocky for Mary, who did not care for the woman who had displaced her mother.

Especially now as she sat in the doctor’s office, watching his face take on the frozen lines that told her she wouldn’t like his news.

She felt herself growing cold as the doctor talked about his findings. Certain key words stuck out – cancer of the heart…aggressive…likely terminal.

She had felt ill for some time, but she had never realized that it might be something as serious as cancer.

What would happen to Mary? Catherine knew Anne was pregnant again. There was no shortage of people who were quite happy to pass along the latest news. If Henry finally had his son, would he bother to protect her girl from the mother of his son?

The thought preyed on her mind as she sat at home, pondering the situation. The doctor’s characterization of her chances had been pretty forbidding – the cancer had simply spread too quickly, too quietly throughout her body, a silent killer stalking her. Was it worth fighting for that very small chance, worth enduring the torture of chemotherapy, just for a few more months? Would she be able to defend Mary, to be there for her daughter? Or would it be better to spend the time she would have with her girl, preparing her as best she could for a future without her mother? Catherine simply did not know.

She had always been a fighter, even when she had known the cause was hopeless. This time, however, was different.

When she woke in the morning, Catherine was sure. She would not submit to chemotherapy, but live out what time she had left in relative comfort, and make what memories she could.

**ANNE BOLEYN**

News of Catherine Tudor’s death hit their social circle hard. Catherine had been excluded for some time, although some of it had been by her own decision. Henry and Anne had refused to don mourning or stop their lives, although she knew Henry was upset by his first wife’s death. No matter how much trouble she had caused him, Catherine had still shared things with Henry that Anne never could. The leg injury he had sustained earlier in the year had done a number on Henry as well. He had become more easily irritated, less likely to make romantic gestures or even show any consideration for his pregnant wife. In fact, he was quite open about the fact that she had failed him. Anne tried to keep the memory of the night he had proposed to her alive in her mind, especially when he came to her at night. Now that she was pregnant, of course, he did not come at all. Bessie Blount had moved on, but Anne knew that Henry was not spending his nights alone. There were plenty of young women who could still be dazzled by Henry Tudor – still handsome, still charming, still in need of being fawned over. Especially when his wife had failed to give him the son he wanted so badly. 

Sometimes Anne wondered if this was how Catherine had felt, as if she had given everything to Henry without him being satisfied. True, she had her daughter Elizabeth, her beautiful little princess, but even the intelligent and quick little girl was not enough. Anne wasn’t stupid – she knew that silly girl Jane Seymour was making a fool of herself over the slightest attention from Henry, throwing herself at him every chance she had.

Anne rubbed her swollen belly soothingly. This baby would be the long-awaited son, she was sure. Elizabeth would make a great big sister, and Henry would happy again. They would all be happy again.  
She looked out at the grey weather outside, and hoped it poured down on the people attending Catherine’s funeral. Of course, her death meant that they would be saddled with Mary all the time. The sight of the girl with her tear-swollen eyes sucking up to Henry made Anne’s blood boil. Surely they could find a better situation for the brat – perhaps a boarding school? It would be the very best, of course – only the best for Henry’s daughter. The girl would only feel left out of the newly-formed family unit, Anne told herself.

Suddenly she cried out, grabbing her waist as she felt the too-familiar stab of cramping. _Oh no_ , she thought, _please God no_.

There was no hope for the situation now, Anne knew as she lay in her bed several days later. She had miscarried their son, Henry’s son, her last chance to make good on her promise. This baby would have saved their relationship, would have saved everything.

With Catherine gone, she had thought she would feel safer. Instead, she realized it had weakened her position. Now that Catherine was gone, Henry didn’t have to keep up the appearance of total happiness with Anne. He didn’t have to face the pressure that would exist to for him to reconcile with Catherine. He would be free to act as he desired. She knew she had already started losing her looks, started fading, and the miscarriage had not helped.

She wondered how long it would be before Henry had her in the divorce court. Their relationship had lasted almost a thousand days, but she knew she could not expect more.

**JANE SEYMOUR**

The number of funerals lately had been quite depressing, Jane Seymour thought. First Catherine, and now Anne. She and Henry had been separated since just after the last miscarriage, claiming irreconcilable differences. Jane had been saddened by the breakup of their marriage, but she had also been secretly thrilled that Henry had expressed interest in her. Maybe he was not as young and trim as he had once been, but he was still a handsome and compelling man, despite his now-constant limp.

Henry had opted not to attend Anne’s funeral, saying he thought it would be awkward. They had been legally separated, but now he was the grieving widower. It was simply tragic to think how Anne had been killed by an intruder in her home. Some of the nastier gossips were whispering that the killer had actually decapitated her, but Jane paid that rumor no attention. The important thing was that little Elizabeth had been safe, with her father. 

_And Henry is free_ , a little voice whispered.

Jane Seymour was a quiet woman, not as beautiful as Catherine Tudor or Anne Tudor had been at her age, but she knew there was nothing unpleasant about her appearance. She favored classic clothes and rich fabrics, and had been delighted by the flowers Henry had started sending her like clockwork – classic long-stemmed red roses, only the best.

Later that evening, Jane was pleasantly surprised to find Henry at her door. He owned the apartment building she lived in, of course, but he had never visited her. Part of her had hoped that he would come by but she had not dared to expect it. 

“This is all so horrible,” Jane commented as she fixed Henry a cup of hot chocolate. “So much death lately.”

“It is sad,” Henry agreed.

They conversed for some time, Jane making sure to ask after Elizabeth and offer her assistance with the little girl. It wasn’t until she was standing at the door, making arrangements to come visit the next day, that she realized something special was going to happen. Henry bent his head to hers, leaving her with a lingering kiss.

Jane hugged herself when she was alone. She and Henry had flirted before, the way he did with a lot of women, and he’d given her little gifts before, but the kiss was different. It meant romance.

They were married quickly, quietly in a civil ceremony, although Jane wore a long ivory dress and carried a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses. It was not an extravagant occasion, but Jane had her family with her, and she was marrying Henry. She had never been happier in her life. It was a lot like the fairy tales she had enjoyed as a girl, with Henry as the handsome prince. Of course, Henry was not as young as she was, and he had bad days when his leg pained him or when he just wasn’t in the mood to be personable. Jane took these in stride and did what she could to make him happy. Often, he would respond to her overtures and all would be well. The day that she told him she was pregnant was one of the best days – she loved seeing his excitement, even if she felt cautious. After all, she had seen what could go wrong with Anne’s pregnancies.

Mary and Elizabeth occupied some of her time as well. Henry thought it was foolish of her to be so concerned with her predecessors’ daughters, but Jane thought it was important to try and mend the relationships. So she took Mary to lunch and helped her shop for school clothes, and took Elizabeth on outings to the park and the zoo. She had a dream of the three of them – Mary, Elizabeth, and the one growing underneath her heart – growing up together, and Jane had resolved to do what she could to bring that about.

She ate so many quails that Henry teased her about growing feathers, while making sure they were served frequently, Mary had even unbent enough to give her a little stuffed quail as a joke gift. Her prenatal checkups were so normal they were boring. Jane decorated the nursery, and wondered if Henry would survive until the end of the pregnancy, since his previous experiences made him edgy. She understood his fears, but hoped to prove him wrong.

When she began labor, Henry fled the scene. Jane was too busy pushing and breathing to get upset, too focused on giving birth to Henry’s son. She was pleasantly surprised at the end when the head nurse told her Henry was waiting just outside the door. The finest moment of all, however, was when she gave her final push and heard the baby crying, followed by the doctor announcing that she had a fine strong son.

The next ten days were blissful ones. Henry was so overjoyed at Edward’s birth that he was showering everyone with gifts and affection, and Jane had taken advantage of her opening to get him to embrace Mary and Elizabeth as Edward’s big sisters. Jane had lost track of the number of pictures he’d taken of the baby, how many times he had told her how happy he was. He was in the mood to forgive anything and to spoil the people he loved. Jane was enjoying all of it so much, being the center of attention, that she barely noticed she wasn’t feeling quite herself, until it was too late for her to notice anything but how hot she was.

**HENRY**

He started at the woman who stood before him. Anne Cleves was passable enough, he supposed, but she looked nothing like the photos on her father’s Facebook account. She was not graceful or elegant, or any of the thing he had been looking for since Jane’s death two years ago. He still missed his gentle wife, the mother of his son, taken from him so unfairly when they were at the height of their happiness. If only she could have lived to see their boy become the sturdy toddler he was today. She’d contracted an infection that no one had noticed until she was quite ill, dying before anything could be done to help her. 

If it were only him, Henry thought he might never marry again. However, the memories of how close he had been to his brother Arthur made him itch to give Edward a brother. The specter of Hal’s death still haunted him in some ways. Hank, his son with Bessie, had died two years ago in a horrible accident. He needed another son. So Henry had turned to social media, trying to make connections with other families that had suitable daughters. He had experienced limited success – that hussy Christina Milano had turned him down quite rudely – but he had thought Anne would be the best choice. He’d wanted a woman who wasn’t already part of his social circle, a woman who was pleasing to look at and spend time with. He’d wanted a woman who would give him another son.

After a few weeks, Henry realized it was hopeless. She was a fine woman, but he felt no spark for her. Anne had not even appeared to notice that he was trying to make a play for her. Henry enjoyed talking with her, but that was all. Anne Cleves would simply not do as his next wife.

Once again, he found himself studying all the women in his circle. He had certain requirements, of course. She had to be young enough to bear children, she needed to be attractive, and she needed to entertain him. She had to be single, of course. He was still an attractive man, despite his limp. He had money, power and influence, and he enjoyed the finer things in life – and he desperately wanted another son. If only Jane had lived, he thought. They could have been so happy.

**KATHERINE HOWARD**

Katherine giggled as Tommy kissed her neck. She sat on his lap, giving herself up to the moment. She enjoyed Tommy’s kisses and touches so much more than those of her husband. She had allowed Henry to sweep her off her feet with extravagant flowers and other gifts, such as romantic trips, but she had since learned that he was a difficult man to be married to. He had looked so very distinguished in his tailored suits that she simply had not imagined what he might look like when the suit came off. Plus, he was obsessed with getting her pregnant, so the amount of time he was willing to spend on other acts was limited. Of course, Tommy was better at all of those acts anyway, so she wasn’t missing much. 

Katherine made it through somehow, generally by closing her eyes and thinking about Tommy. After several months of marriage, she had it down to a science, knew exactly how to move and how to make Henry feel good, as well as learning the value of overdone theatrical moans. But she still was not pregnant. She had very tentatively suggested seeing a fertility specialist, even going so far as to specify that she thought the problem might be with her. He had blown up in a truly terrifying way, and she had held her tongue after that. He still had charming moments, but they were getting fewer and farther between.

There was one more option that she had considered, but it was a dangerous one. Katherine was fairly certain the problem lay with Henry, not her. If she could find a suitable man, one who resembled her husband, she might have a chance. The idea of a sperm donor had intrigued her, but there seemed to be no way to do it without Henry finding out.

The last option, of course, was the one that Tommy was urging her to consider. Her lover wanted her to run away with him. Now, she was starting to think it might be for the best. One of the things that made her nervous was the memory of her glamorous older cousin Anne, who had displeased Henry. Katherine was convinced that Anne’s death hadn’t been the horrible random event it appeared to be.

Another blow-up by Henry settled the situation. Katherine left every expensive gift Henry had ever given her in their bedroom, and left with Tommy. She would file for divorce at a distance. It seemed safer that way.

**CATHERINE PARR**

Catherine Parr made her way out to the terrace to check on her patient. Henry Tudor could be a cantankerous one on his best days, and those were getting few and far between. It was sad, really, to see him confined to a wheelchair, but walking had become excruciatingly painful for him due to an old injury.

He greeted her the way he always did. “You’re the best nurse I ever had. Would you think about marrying me?”

She answered the way she always did. “Not today, Mr. Tudor.” 

He smiled at her, and for a moment she could see why so many women had fallen for him. He could be handsome and charming when it suited him.

But Catherine Parr had Thomas Seymour waiting for her at home, and she would not give him up for anything Henry Tudor had to offer.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy it! I had fun imagining how a more modern version of this story might work out, and enjoyed working in some subtle references to Tudor history. All deaths/losses are in the historical record, although I did give Katherine Howard a break.


End file.
